


I'm Down (if you don't want more from me)

by gala_apples



Category: Glee
Genre: Frottage, Infidelity, M/M, Party, Pre-Canon, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 12:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drunken house parties offer a different kind of open minded tolerance than the glee club will in the future, but they’re refuges too, in a way that the uninvited dregs of the school would never guess. Acceptance comes easy from people who can barely remember their last names.</p><p>Or the one where Finn's sort of obsessed with how much Puck likes kissing random boys, but takes a painfully long time to realise that means something about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Down (if you don't want more from me)

**Author's Note:**

> For Pinn Week's prompt; AU. While not explicitly stated, in my mind this happens just before Finn and Quinn's hot tub scene that Quinn's able to base her lie on, so the season opens on Finn chasing Puck, not Finn being Quinn's perfect boyfriend. IE: an AU without teen pregnancy \o/

Finn doesn't _know_ , but he knows. He knows the way a best friend would. Puck doesn’t have to say a word to him. Finn can sense it, that all these times haven’t been a game for Puck. Okay, yes, technically they are all games. Truth or Dare, Spin the Bottle, Who Can Shotgun Inhale The Most In An Hour. But Puck doesn’t have to play. He could tell people to fuck off when they invited him to sit in whatever circle’s being started up. He’s one of the only players on the Titans who’s any good, and beyond that he’s sort of vicious and terrifying. If he told people to fuck off and leave him out they would. And he doesn’t. And inevitably he kisses at least one guy by the end of the night.

He’s not the only one. Well, of course he’s not the only one, it would be impossible for Puck to kiss other guys if other guys weren’t up for kissing. They’ve all done it, mostly because the Cheerios won’t if they won’t, and two seconds of a dude’s mouth on yours is worth it when Brittany Pierce and Santana Lopez are making out a foot away from you like they’ve forgotten people are watching. But Finn’s pretty sure Puck’s kissing guys for the sake of kissing guys, not because it’s the dues you gotta pay to get hot les action.

Finn plans to say something on either a day that doesn’t end in ‘y’, or the thirty second of the month. Otherwise known as never-the-fuck-ever. Absolutely _nothing_ good can come out of asking Puck if he’s bi. The best case scenario is Puck denying it and calling him a homo for asking. Worst case is a beatdown of epic proportions. Finn likes his teeth where they are, thanks.

Tonight’s Friday, which means another party. Saturday night parties happen, but attendance is more optional, because everyone understands cramming church and family dinner and the weekend’s homework into Sunday is much more difficult nursing a hangover. Fridays are only optional if you want the guys to suggest to Tanaka that you aren’t pulling your weight and that you should maybe be on second string. Finn loves being the quarterback, even on a shitty zero wins all losses team, so he’s present. Better than that, Finn’s sitting in the night’s circle. He’s not really paying a lot of attention, but he’s sitting, which counts for enough. Most of his focus is on his fifth. Some time when he wasn’t looking someone dropped a straw into it. He really needs to get it out before he takes his next sip and it slides halfways down his throat and he chokes to death. The problem is the straw doesn’t quite reach the top and his thumb and index finger are a bit too big to fit in the hole. 

He’s still trying to figure out the logistics of it when he’s yanked forward for a kiss. Finn goes willingly, and enjoys the tongue in his mouth. It’s not until it ends and the person settles back into their place that he can see it was Puck.

It’s the first time he’s ever been Puck’s victim of choice. It should probably freak him out more than it does, but half the girls are still cheering, and pure numbers say it was gonna happen some time. There are only so many combinations of footballer and Cheerio and footballer’s random girlfriend and Cheerios’ random boyfriend. So Finn doesn’t freak, just spins the rum bottle and bites Camilla’s lip the way he knows from experience that she likes. Unless that was Jessica. They look pretty much identical. But even if it wasn’t her, Camilla doesn’t complain, and then it’s her turn and Finn goes back to staring at his fifth and wishing that there was some sort of special vacuum that sucked solids out of liquids so his life wouldn’t be so difficult.

The circle breaks up, eventually. A couple of people go to find a room, positive that their random making out has led them to their sexual soulmate. A few others go to make bargains with the seniors who have decent fake IDs to get them something before the closest bottle shop closes. Finn just leans back against one of the walls. He’ll people watch until someone wants him for something. He’s not anti-social, he’s just developing a theory.

The more house parties Finn goes to the more he’s starting to think about the different kinds of people that get wasted. There’s the invincible guy, case in point being Leonard Modge, who lost the fingertip of his middle finger playing chicken with the garbage disposal. There’s the caretaker drunk. They’re different than the actual sober babysitters, if there are any at a party like this. Sober babysitters get annoyed by the end of a party. Caretaker drunks like Zoey Teek thrive on their friends feeling sick and needing to lie down in the bathtub. There are different emotional drunks, which range from weepy to angry to Kennedy Smedvik, who finds everything hysterically funny. At one party she had an asthma attack because she lost her breath having a laughing fit, and then couldn’t get it back.

And then there’s Puck, who defies category. Finn’s first instinct is to say stripper drunk, but it’s not really true. A true stripper drunk like Brittany Pierce ends the party in a thong and a bra. Maybe a t-shirt, if they’ve got a caretaker friend, but the stripper drunk’s clothes will be lost to the night. Yeah Puck’s shirt is off, like half the linemen, but he’s actually trying to put it back on. He just can’t. It takes Finn a second to figure out why. It’s halfway inside out, the arm and the collar twisted together. Either no one else has noticed, or they think it’s funny, because no one is giving him suggestions. 

It’s not long before Puck shouts “fuck it!” He takes the shirt off again, sticks it in his belt, and goes to get another beer. Finn thinks he’s got a good point. Clearly if he’s problem solving to this degree he’s too sober. He takes another pull and does his best to not cough at the afterburn.

Things are calm for a while. Well, not calm-calm. Santana Lopez has her bout of hysteria, this time on Azimio for calling her a ho. Finn’s pretty sure he didn’t, if only for the fact that it would be suicidally stupid, but Santana’s beyond facts. Leonard jumps off the roof and goes straight through the blanket some of the guys are holding up. Shawn Fiddler dares all the black guys to a rap battle. But it’s all routine, really. Like the guys that are peeing in the kitchen sink. It seems outrageous until you’ve gone to ten parties and the same girls hog the bathroom every time and the same guys resort to the sink every time.

What’s different is Puck throwing him against the wall in some crazy ninja move. He gets all close, practically nose to nose and Finn thinks Puck might headbutt him. Puck’s just that drunk that it would seem like a good idea at the time. It concerns Finn until he realises that the tackle startled him into dropping his fifth. That’s what really matters. He can wipe blood out of his eyes, but he can’t suck vodka out of a rug. Finn drops onto his knees and scrabbles for it, but of course all the rest of it has spilled out.

“You’re a dick, man.”

Puck scowls at him. “Whatever. Go grab one of the passed out people’s bottles.”

Finn crawls out from under his best friend’s legs. Once he’s standing up again he does go to the nearest body curled into fetal position in a corner of a room. They won’t need whatever they’ve got left.

The next time Finn sees Puck he doesn’t seem as hyper. It’s a good thing. If Puck doesn’t get violent then Finn doesn’t have to get angry, and he really doesn’t wanna be. He’s too smashed to sustain anger. He found a half full fifth of whiskey on Montrose. It tastes like death, but it’s high proof and good for maintaining his level of drunk.

“Let’s go for a jog.”

Okay, maybe Puck’s still somewhat hyper. Active-hyper is still better than violent-hyper. Besides, it sounds like a good idea to Finn. The house, whoever’s house this is, is all crowded and hot. Outside won’t be.

“I underestimated how hard walking is,” he says a few minutes later. They’ve made it outside, but not much further than that. Holding on to each other isn’t helping. If anything Puck’s wobbling makes Finn feel more wobbly. He just doesn’t want to let go.

Puck stumbles a little and falls into a fence. Finn’s chuckle turns into a full blown cackle as the apparently rotted wood crumbles around the nail and the board collapses inward, taking Puck with it. 

“Ahahah! Oh my god dude. You killed the fence.”

Puck struggles his way out of the flower garden behind the fence. Once he’s got himself onto the grass he tugs Finn down. It’s not his superior footballing taking down ability that makes Finn go down. It’s his own drunkenness and the fact that yeah, he actually does wanna sit on the grass with Puck for a few minutes. Sitting down is nice and Puck is nice.

“I was mad at you earlier.”

“You were? You didn’t punish me.” Puck’s easily the most vindictive person Finn knows. Really, he didn’t know it was possible for Puck to be displeased with someone and not make their life a living hell.

“Was gonna. Was gonna push you into the retention pond. The water’s fifty percent duck poo.”

Finn can see that. The pond is just at the bottom of the hill they’re on. Actually, judging by the lights, Finn’s pretty sure the fence Puck broke is separating the house they were partying at’s backyard and the pond. The caretaker drunks would be having a hell of a time if it was chain link, not wooden planks. There are no ducks to be seen, but it’s a nearly full moon, and the scum on the top of the water is obvious. Obvious and fuckin’ gross.

“But you didn’t?” 

“Then you’d smell bad. I like how you smell now.”

“Yeah?”

Puck rolls half on top of Finn and crams his face into his neck. Finn doesn’t push Puck away because it’s mean and he doesn’t have to because he’s drunk and he can do what he wants to when he’s drunk. Not even when he feels wet on his skin and he realises Puck’s licking him.

When Puck nestles his hips down it’s the most obvious thing in the history of ever to push his up. A monkey would do it. Shit, plankton would be smart enough to do it.

“Are you humping my leg?” 

“Yeah, but you licked my face.” And he started the humping thing too, so whatever. This is doubly Puck’s fault. 

“I am so drunk I don’t even care.” 

Finn has a window of about two seconds to ask what Puck doesn’t care about, and then Puck’s rutting against him and it becomes pretty obvious. And about three seconds after that it’s obvious that alcohol does nothing to curb his fast shooting problem.

Finn gives credit where credit is due. “I just came so hard my hands are numb.”

“Really? Was only frotting. And I haven’t, so I’m gonna keep on, okay?” Puck doesn’t wait for verbal confirmation, just keeps driving his hips down.

“Maybe it was ‘only’ to you, but that was the first sex I’ve had with not-my-hand.”

“Wow dude, that’s sad. Next time let me fuck you in the ass or something.”

Finn has to laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

Puck makes a face at him, and for a moment Finn wonders if that’s Puck’s orgasm face, but no. If orgasms made Puck snarl the Cheerios would have that information all over the school by now. “I’m serious, man. I can guarantee you I’ll give it up before Fabray will.”

That...is actually very very true. And pretty much seals the deal on the whole possibly bisexual thing. Finn totally called it. Except that ability to successfully read his best friend added to the fact that he’s laying under Puck with wet underwear makes him wonder. “You ever think I might be bi?”

“I think that this is a convo that can wait until I’m done.”

“Okay.” Fair enough. Puck didn’t ask him hard questions when _he_ was trying to get off. Except is it really that hard? Isn’t it just a yes or no? “But yeah, or no?”

Apparently it’s hard enough that Puck needs full concentration, because he rolls onto his back on the grass, then sits up. Not looking at him Puck answers “this isn’t a convo we’re gonna have now, because you’re compromised. You’re drunk as shit, not thinking. And we won’t have it sober, even if you say we will, we totally, really will, because we’re not those guys. So let’s just do this, and then never ever talk about it, okay?”

Finn does his best to process all of that. Puck’s cutting his losses, Finn can see that as drunk as he is, going from _I’ll help you lose your virginity_ to _gimme one minute to finish and then we’ll forget it ever happened_ in the span of three sentences. Finn’s answer is one meant to provoke him. “I’m gonna text Quinn that I think I’m bi, what does she think.”

“That is literally the opposite of what you should be doing.”

Puck must be pretty shaken, he’s not even calling him dude or bro. Finn makes a mental check mark on the provocation, and continues. Maybe he can get Puck to yell. Puck’s always the most honest when he’s yelling. “Why’s that?”

“Fabray will dump your ass. And she’ll tell everyone, and even if you’re a straight up five outta ten there’s not a Cheerio that would take you long term. You’ll be forced into being single, or some loser girl, or being with Hummel, your only dude option.”

Ignoring that Puck thinks he only likes people for their popularity -a problem, but he can’t handle two arguments at once- Finn hones in on the second part. “Why aren’t you a dude-option?”

“Because I’m not.”

“Less than five minutes ago you were. You wanted ‘ta bang me.”

Puck sighs. “Can’t say that I don’t. But have you ever seen me date?”

“You’ve dated like a hundred people.”

“‘Smy point. Never lasts. I fuck up. Sometimes it’s bad, and they drop me ‘mmediately. Sometimes it’s just my normal levels, but she gets sick of it and drops me anyway. You, bro, are a long term lover. You wanna get married and shit.”

“I never said-” Finn starts. Because he totally didn’t. He hasn’t even seen Puck’s dick, he’s not exactly proposing. He’s just trying to figure out what the problem is.

“We’re both hot, and the buttfucking would be fun. But you need ta date, and you can’t date me. So whatever. I’m gonna go get more beer.”

Puck attempts a friendly punch in the shoulder, but his fist is half open and it’s really more of a shove. Finn tilts before sitting back upright, like a buoy in the water. He skims his hands over the blades of grass and watches Puck stagger back towards the house.

Well, fuck that, Finn thinks. Puck can tell him what to do in a million different ways and make it stick, and he can say no he doesn’t want to have sex, because no means no. But he can’t make Finn not want him. Dating skills or not.

Finn pulls his phone out of his pocket and saves a draft of a text to himself to remember to break up with Quinn in the morning. He’ll do a better job of it sober, and it’s a job that should be done well. Not helping Quinn test the hot-tub her parents just bought won’t necessarily get Finn into Puck’s pants, there’s no way it’ll be that easy, but it’ll be a first step to making Puck realise he’s serious. It takes a committed man to break up with Quinn Fabray.

Note made, Finn puts his phone away and does up the zipper of his hoodie. He’s a layers kind of guy, for all that Quinn, and Vanessa before her, tried to convince him layers went out with Cobain. In situations like these he’s totally having the last laugh, because the fuzzy cuddling warmth of the garment lets him flop back fully on the grass and close his eyes.

And if Finn’s got this theory that in a few hours Puck will come find him, pissed off and shouting _who the fuck sleeps beside a pond!_ , hustling him into the back of a taxi with a scowl because he’s nothing close to a caretaker drunk, but he absolutely positively does care; well, that’s just an added bonus.


End file.
